


The Heat of the Moment

by vwhale



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anal, Caught in the Act, Facial, Intermission (Homestuck), M/M, Made with Love, Mobsterswitch, Rimming, Rough fucking, hate fucking turned affectionate, i forgot to add, public, rough, this is just porn for my bf's enjoyment lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-09 17:34:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15272691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vwhale/pseuds/vwhale
Summary: Scofflaw has a habit of hiding his motivations. It's annoying, sure, but Deadeye is generally good at working them out.





	The Heat of the Moment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [detectiwe](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=detectiwe).



The feeling of leather, padding Deadeye’s fingertips, is interesting. It’s not… wholly comfortable, but he can handle it for now. Scofflaw has been pestering him about this event for months now, investing money and time into doting over the man, educating him on etiquette (like he didn’t already know)-- the attention was nice, if it didn’t interfere with work. Conveniently, it always seemed to. Today wasn’t one of the days that it would- Deadeye had arranged to meet him at two, calling it a short day since he’d spent the past week and a half putting in overtime to clear out as many cases as he could before taking the time off.

Today was the day.

So here he was, in Peccant’s bedroom, fretting over his outfit. There were three options to choose from, and none of them were _quite_ right. 

“I still don’t quite understand why you want me there. If I’m recognized as a lawman---”

 

“Don’t flatter yourself, Dee, corrupt cops are about as common as the rest of us criminals.” Scoff had been short all day. Increasingly so. Deadeye wasn’t going to pass up _that_ opportunity, taking his sweet time dressing. 

“I doubt that.” He mutters, deciding on the dark suit with subdued teal accents. It was an interesting choice of color, but he was pretty much forced to don darker clothing. Perhaps it would give the impression that the very brightly-colored prospitain was a dersite, offer a bit of anonymity in a crowd of them. 

“You doubt that, do ya? Mister ‘I’m-fucking-half-the-leaders-of-the-underground-in-Metropolis’? Is that the hill you’re gonna die on, Detective?” Scofflaw’s voice is clipped and aggressive, styling his hair impatiently for the third time in his bedside body mirror, shoulders tense. 

“Hey, now. If you don’t think I’m using you to my advantage at least 70% of the time, you’re woefully mistaken.” Deadeye isn’t conspicuously dismissing him, but it is fun to see the crimelord puff up when he doesn’t play into his little provocative game. “You’re cute when you’re nervous, Scoff.” He says, an audible shit-eating grin. 

Deadeye doesn’t get much attention.

“You don’t have to intentionally be insufferable, Detective, I hate you enough already.” The response gets a smirk, pleased, before he finally starts getting dressed.

\----

Deadeye was _not_ going to openly admit that he _really_ enjoyed being chauffeured around the way he was; a sleek, leather-interior limouzine with colored lights in the rims and undercarriage and in a line across the inside. It’s practically radiating money, incredibly clear that Scoff is only slightly out of his element, though the nerves seem to magically disappear as more people he’s familiar with pile in with the two of them. Deadeye’s nerves mount, just a little. Scoff introduces him in perhaps the _worst_ way.

“Hey, guys- you know how I’m pullin’ new babes every week, right? Well, he’s been around a bit longer than that. This is Dee. He’s kinda shy, but if you get a few drinks in him he’ll become the life of the party.” Dee’s look of absolute _horror_ doesn’t seem to get a great reaction from Scoff’s group of friends, so he reaches over, _pinches his cheek,_ and explains, “He’s also my kismesis.” The darts Deadeye shoots him make the little audience of his snicker, offering pseudo-mocking words of congratulations to him, ooing and aahing over “What a looker this one is, I bet _he’s_ a good fuck.” And Deadeye very quickly decides that Scofflaw is going to pay for the humiliation tonight is going to be.

It seems to stop there, though. His friends quiet down pretty quickly, make light conversation, and he brags a little about the other now and again. It’s alright, if Dee wasn’t already uncomfortable. There’s a few cigarettes that _definitely_ don’t smell like tobacco. A “casual” arm drapes over Scofflaw’s shoulders until the limo stops at the venue. Deadeye is a rushed first to get out. Brush off. His criminal pitchmate doesn’t quite address him directly, more- takes his hand with a touch more softness than usual, laces their fingers together, and pulls him inside.

Fucking hell. 

Jay Gatsby could have been the one hosting this event, an extravagant and luxurious affair. High ceilings, beautifully dressed people, fun music and lots of laughing and flirting. A few people wore simple, minimalist masks-- perhaps people like Deadeye, who were hoping not to be recognized at an event like this. Scoff is pulling the two of them further inside, with a hand that tightens just a touch in all the crowd. He’s incredible at hiding his nerves behind his unfailing charisma, and it’s incredibly hard to keep up with him.

The first major flirtation he’s leveraging around is annoying at best.

“Yeah- no, no, it’s not like he’s a criminal or anything. Look at him.” His voice peaks through the midst of a conversation that was mostly tuning out. Dee catches a look up from his phone, just to see Scoff and three of his acquaintances break into laughter at the other’s cluelessness.

The second is a little more adventurous.

“Are you interested in any of tonight’s... _entertainments?”_ He’s asking, wiggling his eyebrows in a way that leads Deadeye to have a weird feeling about whatever the meaning could be. He’s referencing an individual in a very sleek outfit, glittering and deep blue. She’s gorgeous, a small handbag that she’s pulling… something? From, and offering now and again to those who engage her. 

“What… is that supposed to be?” He’s wary, and Scoff seems to like that. Waving her over gets a smirk from one of the ladies in conversation next to them, and the glittering woman weaves through people to offer… two pieces of paper. Deadeye cautiously accepts one to look it over. It’s not _drugs_ or anything, just a square with some kind of logo on it. 

“It’s a ticket, Detective.” Scoff mutters it right in your ear as they both watch the glittery woman make her way back through the crowd, his lips barely brushing the flesh of Deadeye’s ear. It’s a wild and sudden grounding, a small thrill at an intimacy in the open like this. His condescending tone doesn’t help, either, he’s been trying for provocation all night.

“To _what_ exactly?” Dee’s hissing back. Rather than answer, Scoff kisses his cheek and pulls him in the direction that the woman left in.

It’s. 

So _this_ is where all the shit is happening. A parlor, of sorts. Jarring, colorful lighting cast shadows on most of the illicit acts taking place before them, even as Peccant’s hand on his lower back becomes a touch heavier. Party guests, drinking and touching one another, a few very obviously high or what have you, and Scofflaw’s hand, sliding over Dee’s back pocket. 

It’s on the third attempt of his to provoke you that you snap.

He’s draped over the other’s lap, his elegant hand possessively on the other’s chest as he speaks over him to talk to a woman on Deadeye’s other side. 

“And you think that’ll keep those rats in the department at bay, sweetheart?” She’s asking, as his hand slides across the plane of Dee’s collar.

“No, fuck, I don’t think _anything_ could keep police officers offa me. I think they’re all in love with me, honestly.” He trails a finger upwards, cups the other’s face. “It’s alright, really. Gets me laid once in a while-- the Fuzz ain’t shit when they’re begging for me to fuck them harder.” 

She glances at the detective’s hard expression, Peccant’s hand on his thigh that’s gripping him a little too tight, and her smile widens.

“Looks like you’ll have another bitch begging for you soon, huh?” She sips her glass, sparkling laughter that seems to be the catalyst to Deadeye’s protest. He’s up, shoving hands and limbs off of him. Wordless, ignoring any and all protests from Scofflaw with vicelike policeman’s grip on his wrist. Hard enough to hurt. The lazy, carnal crowd fades into the background as Scofflaw is being jerked into the shadows, down a hall that leads somewhere farther into the mansion. They weren’t going to pursue the depths for privacy, not with Deadeye’s chest tight and blood boiling, shoving his adversary against the wall. It’s incredibly dim, here, only a few whispers of light cast across Scoff’s face, glinting shock in his eyes. True to his fashion, Deadeye is pinning his enemy there with an elbow under that prideful chin, pleased that at fucking _last_ that little smirk is gone. He doesn’t hesitate to put a little pressure on Scoff’s neck, a threat.

“Is this your shitty excuse for a date, huh? Real romantic, asshole, fucking humiliating me in front of your big-dick friends all night.” His expression is obscured in the darkness for prospitain eyes, but he’s hoping it’s some kind of frustration. Scoff fumbles. There’s a weird, stale moment before he presses something plastic into the other’s hand. It… Takes a minute to figure out what is going on there. _A fucking condom?_

Oh.

 _Oh._  
Deadeye’s expression betrays him once again, and there’s a small laugh from the other.

“Christ, you’re dense. I’ve been laying it on thick as hell, dumbass. Thought you’d never get the hint.” He gloats like a child. Scoff’s hands tug the other’s arm from under his chin, instead pulling him in by the hips, pressing the two of them together. There’s a moment of pause, resentment smogging up the air between them. It breaks after that shit-eating dersite blows a little kiss at the other-- one that’s followed up with the detective’s mouth in a crash of lips and breath, as heated as his temper-- _maybe_ he didn’t really have a handle on pitch relationships yet, but the the effort he’d put in to get you here, even if it was frustrating and awful, was admirable. Scoff’s turn to kiss the other again, hard, biting at lips hard enough to elicit a recoil. He’s quickly following up (slightly softer), kissing away the taste of copper and the hiss of protest.

Scofflaw’s hands are kinder to Deadeye’s clothes when he’s the one paying for them. Even so. He isn’t allowed to undress the other, unlike some of the party attendees in the room they’d just come from, all naked and moaning out in the open. Disgusting; but it wasn’t as if the two of them were any better, grinding into each other with prospitain teeth affixed to the soft, warm skin of the other’s neck. The alcohol of cologne, the taste of skin-- It’s as intoxicating as the rest of him. Scofflaw’s hips shift. There’s a deep rumble of laughter bubbling up through Deadeye at the note of arousal pressing into his thigh. It’s impatient, and anything the criminal wouldn’t ask for in words is begged there. Embarrassing.

“Can’t act like a civilized person for a night, huh? You just _had_ to make this into some elaborate plot to seduce me by pissing me off in public?” Peccant’s hands make their way under that teal-accented suit jacket, a soft gasp underneath it as he nips a little hard on Deadeye’s neck, hands sliding up Scoff’s now-untucked shirt to tease his chest in reaction. Everything feels like it’s happening at once. The music in the other room, low and seductive, seems to choreograph the dance of them, grinding into each other. Hard, excited breath into dark hair as Dee’s making blossoming, dark marks over the side of his neck.

“Don’t act all high an’ mighty, Detective.” Scofflaw’s voice is low and soft, an aggressive one that his lover had come to adore in moments like this. A precursor to excitement. “It defeats your point, yaknow. When your boner is right up against my fuckin’ stomach.” 

“Oh? Want me to do something about that?” Deadeye’s reaction is quick. He’s pulling his mouth off the other’s neck to look him in the eyes as he’s felt up and palmed, an awful smile in the way Scoff tries to conceal his reaction. It’s enough to press a little more into action. The detective is lowering, only a little uncomfortable with his knees on the ground (when did kneeling on hardwood get so painful?).

“You’re seriously gonna suck my dick right now?” Scoff snarls over him, reaching down as if to pull the other’s hair. He’s swatted away, and it’s rough when he’s turned around. Scofflaw grunts mild protest as he’s shoved against the wall again, his palms flat on either side of him, bracing against the cold surface where he’s been thrown. It’s an awfully pretty sight, seeing him red-faced and anticipating. Anxious for a touch with any substance.

“What gave you that impression, sweetheart?” Deadeye asks it sweetly as delicate fingers, malicious and teasing, drag the other’s dress slacks and pompously expensive underwear down past his thighs. It’s cute when he sucks in a breath that’s full of anticipation, tensing against the wall. Fucking hell- his skin is warm, and he shudders a gasp when hot lips press, parted, against it. Deadeye’s manicured nails dig into his hips, forcing him still. Another hand low on his back, guiding him down until he’s prone. Easy. There’s some kind of grunt from him, low and dark, even now he’s trying to tease and provoke with the irresistibly beautiful way his body just _barely_ bends obedient. He’s restrained, but only just. 

The muffled music from the rest of the party sounds so distant. Tendrils of shadow magic curl around Deadeye’s ankles, tightening when his tongue draws a heated line on the border of his low back.

“You gonna tease me all night, or what?” Scofflaw hisses, but it’s more than apparent that he is not the one in control. He’s barely been touched, and already asking for it. 

Deadeye’s hands spread him apart, and he’s treated to an intimate view of his adversary’s entrance. He’s surprisingly gentle, humming lightly and outlining it with his tongue, a hand sneaking up the other’s thigh to palm the length of arousal in open air. Heated, teasing. It wasn’t a gamble; Scofflaw had been practically begging for him all afternoon. It only made sense that he’d be prepared. 

Scoff’s little movements, the way he strains, pushing himself back against the detective’s tongue, are encouraging enough. This was practiced. There was a bit of a routine; Deadeye only ever gave him what he asked for. Scofflaw could trade pride for pleasure, or he could let himself suffer until his pitchmate got bored and moved on.  
Deadeye won this little game every time. 

The detective’s cool and even hands were good at riling him up. Squeezing his cock, small strokes that Scoff strained to rut into with the tongue that teased his hole. It was with infuriating restraint that the lawman touched him. Extremely measured and just. One of those soft-skinned hands lifted and hooked into a bare hip, dragging him backwards. He’s stumbling into place with no more than a soft noise of annoyance, teetering on lashing out with the gloating tone Deadeye hums at him. 

The detective pulls back, and that’s about all the teasing Peccant Scofflaw can take. He’s groaning an annoyed complaint, hoping that the other man will take a fucking hint already-- the _crack!_ of the fucker’s palm on his ass has him hissing swears, kicking backwards, _hard_. There’s a thudding, complaining sound that he guessed was the sad excuse for a rival falling backwards. Scoff turns on him. The knife he’s pulling out of his coat is one of many he’s got tucked away, but it’s perhaps one of his favorites. Slick and matte black, silvery engraved patterns across the handle and up the blade- it was an anniversary gift from the “yours truly” that was recovering on the ground. 

It happens in a weird, fast-paced manner. Deadeye is pulled up by his hair, and the way his face twists up in pain is _excruciatingly hot._ One of his hands flies up to dig his nails into the mobster’s wrist (with no real result) while the other lands a half-hearted blow against his thigh, pulled up to him. The knife is more, flashy. Kept in the detective’s peripheral, a lowered hand that glints in the relative darkness of the hallway. 

“You wanna keep your ears looking symmetrical and _not_ mangled beyond modern medicine’s capabilities, you’d better get to sucking me off, asshole.” There’s definitely going to be a bruise in his leg where he was hit, and that’s definitely a fun little thought. It was only fun when the two of them marked each other up-- hickeys, cuts, nail marks, bites, bruises. Everything was fair game.

Deadeye, like a good little slut, does as he’s told. Scofflaw doesn’t fail to tell him this. 

“Mhm. Your mouth is suited to cock sucking. I think it’d be a perfect world if that’s the only reason you ever opened it, sweetheart.” He’s cooing, while Deadeye’s swollen lips are sloppy, licking up the underside of the other’s shaft. He doesn’t use his hands, one of them still straining (though weaker, less insistent) against the tight fist in his hair. Scofflaw fucking relishes the sight of the other man’s eyes, flicking back over to the knife in his hand as he’s dragged by his hair down, down, and back up the length of his cock. The hot, stifled sounds of him gagging go straight to his dick. Fucking hell. It’s twitching in the other’s mouth, those full eyes glancing up at him, intense with unadulterated loathing. 

Scofflaw’s dick is hot in his mouth, and the man has a nasty habit of pushing just past what Deadeye can comfortably take. He’s caught retching and gagging more often than not, his eyes grossly watery and his fingers fisting tight in Scoff’s shirt, wrinkling it all to hell. The gross taste of precum slides against his tongue and he recoils- but the hand in his hair doesn’t give in, jerking him back and drawing out a soft, pained sound.

Finally, he’s given respite. Scofflaw releases his hair, and Deadeye is immediately pulling off to gasp, rattling breaths. 

“Wow, you’re really getting bad in the dick department, huh?” Scoff’s gloating, but the hand that falls on the other’s shoulder is soft, a check-up. A hand reaches up to touch his fingers, the only softness shared between them. It’s torn all to shreds when the man recovers his breath. 

Scofflaw lands _hard_ on his ass on the hardwood as his leg is yanked out underneath him. He’s on the same level as the detective, now, knife skittering to the floor with him, and Deadeye pounces on him. His hands shove him into the wall, kissing him hard, a clash and a gnash of teeth. It _hurts,_ and Scofflaw’s subdued for a moment, letting the detective pull the other’s legs around his waist, his hands diving between them to unbuckle his belt, unzip, fish out his cock at fucking _last_ and stroke it in front of him. Finally he’s feeling something, the breath of pleased relief washes between them all hot and steamy. It doesn’t take more than a few strokes for Scoff to get antsy. 

The detective is too smug, pulling the other in by the hips. Their bodies meet with a grip around both of their lengths, Scofflaw’s hand rising to grip the back of Deadeye’s neck. His fingers creep up into his hair, threading through what he could reach, dragging his clipped, neat nails down the base of the detective’s skull. 

“Oh, fuck,” It’s whispered between them, and it isn’t clear who’s the one saying it. It’s a blur of deep, saturated pleasure, needy and near desperate as the obscenity in such a public place. Scofflaw’s hand disappears, patting the grown next to him to bring back the little square of plastic, press it into Deadeye’s hand once again. There’s no exchange of words, no questions; an understanding is already in place between them, something Scoff relies on as he watches the other with lidded eyes, unwrapping and rolling it onto himself. There’s no warning- a cry that dies in his throat when Deadeye lifts him under his thighs and sinks himself in all at once. It isn’t as bad as it could’ve been-- but Scofflaw’s thirty minutes of preparation was midday, before Deadeye came to his house to get ready, and it was well into the night now. He’s grasping at the other’s shirt, cursing a black fog into the air. Ink settles into his breath, wraps loosely around the detective’s neck. 

It doesn’t stop him, his face schooled into a slight frown. His hands are tense on the other’s hips, keeping him still as he sets a moderately slow pace, driving his cock into the other’s form, Scofflaw practically shaking underneath him. It’s fucking painful. It _hurts._

“D--Fuck, Dee, slow down. Go easy on me, babe, Christ.” 

The spades that flash in Deadeye’s eyes fade, and he’s bowing his head to kiss the other’s face, loosening up some. His hips still, and Scofflaw is allowed a moment to breathe, relax. He settles, reptilian, collecting himself into cooler composure. They’re done hurting each other, it’s decided, and the pitch romance fades. It comes and goes in phases, waning and waxing, but the flip is almost seamless every time. Deadeye’s an entirely different person, gentle hands caressing his lover’s face, reaching between them to stroke Scofflaw in the wait, until he was given an affirmation to move again. 

It takes a while, but it comes. 

The music, faded and lazy in the atmosphere seems to blend into their fingertips, imitating the pulse under the wrist that Scofflaw’s pressing his lips to, squeezing Deadeye a little between his knees. He adjusts, just enough, and pulls him in. It’s sweet, and when the lawman starts moving again, it’s easier. It feels good, and Scoff tells him, his hands carded loosely through brown, once-neat hair. 

His composure is only just intact, while Deadeye’s kisses trail off into parted lips, huffing and muttering affection as he moves inside his lover. 

_“Fuck,_ Dee, God.” It’s a rare blessing when he’s like this, clinging to Deadeye as he’s fucked. He’s beautiful past the barriers, once the fight’s gone and he lets himself shudder and gasp and murmur his name. “Should’ve left the condom off, though, I just thought it’d be-- ah, it’d be a hint you couldn’t possibly miss.” Deadeye shushes him with insistent kisses, unravelling in the heat of his body. He always goes quiet past the soft, loving confessions that make it past his lips, the ‘gorgeous’ and ‘perfect’ melody Scofflaw craves on the occasion he allows them to get like this. 

_”You feel good, Peccant. Fucking beautiful like this, love. Fucking perfect.”_ It’s like he doesn’t know he’s saying it in the tense, stuttered way he fills him. The contrast between the dull ache in his scalp from the harsh hand in his hair, the sore throat he knew was developing to be nasty later, and the gentle, trembling kisses he pressed into the other’s face-- it was exactly what he’d always wanted. 

“You gonna cum for me, Dee?” Scofflaw’s horrible, as always, soft smile. He gets what he asks for, nearly instantly, as the detective pulls away (the emptiness without warning is _awful,_ and leaves him aching for more) to strip off the condom without any flourish, curled over the other as he gasps into his hair. Deadeye, somehow, retains so much of himself like this, burying his face in Scoff’s shoulder as he climaxes, shuddering warm, pearly lines that drape and drip onto his partner’s untouched length. 

“Aw, at least you didn’t get anything on my clothes. How considerate.” He’s muttering, kissing the side of the other’s face. Deadeye doesn’t move for a moment, breathing into him and riding out the trembling way his body handles that intense orgasm.  
It doesn’t take a long time for the mobster to get impatient, though, pushing Deadeye off gently to stroke himself. He’s stopped pretty quickly, a gentle hand pulling his arm away by the wrist- it’s a firm grip, despite its softness. 

“Come on, asshole-- you got to blow your load, it ain’t fair if you don’t… let… _oh.”_

He calms down when Deadeye lowers himself, adjust the two of them. He doesn’t hesitate before going to work on him, humming in appreciation at the hand that quickly lands in his hair- not to pull or shove him down, just to curl into his locks, soft gasps and exclamations spilling out of the mobster above him. Deadeye was pretty good at giving head- hollowed cheeks, satisfying wet sounds that were just _delicious_ to hear. He could taste himself in Scofflaw’s skin, licking up what was left of his own orgasm, open-mouthed kisses that turned into a hot breath out his nose over the patch of hair at the base of Scoff’s cock. He swallows, and his reward is immediate in the way his lover’s breath catches, hips quirking up into his mouth.

The party is dull background noise, and the sense of privacy is a comfortable one. 

Scofflaw doesn’t take long to get worked up. He’s never as quiet as his partner, quiet moans and exclamations of his lover’s name.

It’s easy to forget that there are other people around-- right up until a drunken, singing man stumbles into earshot. 

It takes a moment for Deadeye to unscramble the jumble of sounds, but as soon as he recognizes it as a witness, he begins to pull up.

Scofflaw’s hands tighten in his hair- not hurting him, but not allowing him to get up, either. There’s an indignant, surprised whine that gurgles around the hard length in his throat, but even as the drunk man approaches, babbling to himself about “where to take a leak”, Scoff’s jerking his hips up into the other. 

“Eyy you guys, get it.” The slurring, cheerful voice has Deadeye’s cheeks _burning,_ and he’s pulling away again. Scofflaw releases him- but he doesn’t get very far. He’s held close, breathing hard, open mouth to fire insults---

Scofflaw groans as he cums, and Deadeye’s offended expression is painted in white. 

“Do you want me to call him back over here? We could go for round two, if ya want.” The criminal is teasing, now, but Deadeye doesn’t really have the energy to get truly worked up again. He sighs, before _very_ pointedly wiping his cum-covered face on his partner’s shirt.

He pulls himself up for a kiss.  
“I think it’s time to go home, love.”


End file.
